


before. after. now.

by cardinalrachelieu



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: (in the sense of the kai leng coup and the following hospital scene), Angst, F/M, Grief, Mourning, Sort of a fix-it, also kolyat becomes a member of the crew and bioware can eat my entire ass, hello naughty children it's time for A N G S T, mmmmmm survey says NOPE, this is the one where people notice shepard's grief, this is the one where she meets him at the sea, this is the one where thane dies but his echo lingers, will i ever not be salty about that missed opportunity??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 18:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalrachelieu/pseuds/cardinalrachelieu
Summary: Water.At her back. Under her legs. Surrounding her. Holding her. The arms of the ocean—gentle as a prayer, cold as the space between stars.---or,shepard discovers the insular brutality of grief





	1. now

**Author's Note:**

> one of these days i will write fic for a fandom in its prime, but it is not this day.

Water. 

At her back. Under her legs. Surrounding her. Holding her. The arms of the ocean—gentle as a prayer, cold as the space between stars.

Shepard sighs, blinks into the blinding glare of a golden sun. In her dream, there had been agony. War and loss and destruction. It seems so unimportant now. So small. She rights herself, and a wave helps her forward, toward a glistening shore bathed in white sand, the soft rolling dunes beyond.

And a figure, tall and lithe, brilliant green scales catching the day, arms clasped behind his back. Waiting.

_Thane._


	2. before

Silver pierced Thane’s chest, and Shepard’s scream cleaved the room. The universe tilted beneath her—the wet-slick sound of blood drowning out every other noise, the promise of time yanked away at the tip of honed steel.

Dark lips curled into a sadistic grin, and in a swift motion, the assassin withdrew his blade. Thane collapsed, a bloom of red crawling outward beneath him. Too fast. Too much.

Her biotics flared on instinct, and with a cry Shepard hurled a wave of energy—a vengeful thing, powerful enough to tear the assassin's limbs from his body. It bounced harmlessly off his shields as he staggered down a hallway, limping from the bullet Thane put in his leg.

Shepard tore across the room, sliding on her hip when she was close enough. “Thane—”

“Go,” he croaked.

He was still alive. “Thane—”

“Go, siha.” Dark eyes. Clever smile. And blood. So much blood.

“I will stabilize him,” Liara said, omni-tool already accessing a dose of medi-gel.

Shepard swallowed. If she didn’t move, the assassin would be gone for good, and Thane— It would all be for nothing. 

Wordlessly, she scrambled to her feet, and ran. Down a hall. Onto a balcony. Blood pounding in her ears. Breath hot in her throat. She threw a pulse, but it bounced harmlessly off the assassin’s shoulder. He bore the mark of Cerberus—an orange brand in the center of his chest. And his eyes, covered by a mask. What was it hiding? The Illusive Man had done something to him—she was sure of it.

Shepard pulled her gun, emptied one clip, then another. Fear made her sloppy, but anger gave her focus. His shields dutifully took each hit. They wouldn’t last much longer, though, and he was out of real estate. Unless he could somehow walk on air.

“Give it up!” she yelled, loading a new magazine into her pistol. “If you surrender now, I’ll bring you in alive.”

The assassin picked up speed—and leapt, a dive off the tenth floor balcony. 

What the—? Shepard slowed. Stopped. Surely he hadn’t just— 

The assassin hovered back into view, perched on the roof of a cab, the same savage grin on his face as when he’d stabbed Thane.

He was going to get away.

Shepard continued firing until the hollow click of an empty chamber mocked her efforts. “Garrus!”

“On it,” he said, omni-tool glowing as he hacked the security system of the nearest vehicle.

Two more shots rang out, one of them glancing off the assassin’s visor. He scowled, a snarl rippling across his lips even as he offered a lazy salute. And then he was gone, lost to the crush of traffic.

“Garrus!”

“Thirty more seconds,” he shouted back, frantic tone a mirror of hers.

When Shepard whirled around, Thane was leaning unsteadily against an arch, gun in his hand. He slid to the ground. Coughed up a spray of blood.

Relief quickly morphed into terror. “Thane—”

“I’m fine,” 

A bold-faced lie. “How bad?”

“Got my lung.” A series of shallow coughs. Red on his lips. “Wasn’t working well anyway.”

Of all the injuries… 

“Commander,” Garrus called, followed by the electronic hum of an engine whirring to life.

“Go,” Thane urged. It sounded like _Goodbye,_ and Shepard forgot how to breathe.

“Shepard!” Garrus called again. If they didn’t leave now, the assassin would disappear. Maybe for good.

 _Fuck._ Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Liara,” Shepard said, the order scratching like sandpaper on the way out, “get Thane to the—”

“Hospital,” she finished, looping the drell’s arm around her neck. “I will, Shepard. Now _go_.”

_(Later, she would regret the choice to leave. Kai Leng escaped anyway.)_

* * *

Time.

They were supposed to have more time—a month, a week, a day. Hell, at this point she’d trade her soul for another _hour_.

 _"We repaired the wound, but he's in the final stages of Kepral's."_ The doctor had been young, inexperienced at delivering bad news. His eyes wouldn't meet hers. Did he recognize her? Had he seen her visiting Thane one day? _"His son is in there saying his goodbyes. You might want to say yours."_

The truth had detonated with quiet brutality. Everyone in the hall survived unscathed. Everyone save her.

Now, the door to Thane's room loomed in front of her. An oversized coffin. A nightmare come to life. But she refused to spend Thane's final moments anywhere but at his side. With a stilted breath, she tapped the lock and marched inside. 

Kolyat greeted her. Explained things. She heard none of it, looking past him until dark eyes found hers. “Thane.” She forced herself to move. To be with him. One last memory.

“Siha.” A weak smile graced his lips, stolen quickly by a cough. “I’m afraid I’ve picked a bad time to leave.” 

“Don’t talk like that.” Sterile daylight filtered through the wall of windows, and she brought his hand to her mouth. Kissed his palm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He swept his thumb across her cheek. Soft as a ghost. “Forgive me.” His lungs rattled, a horrible, wet, wheezing sound. The worst sound. “I’m sorry to disappoint y—” A series of coughs ripped the rest of the words away, though he kept his fingers laced with hers. Squeezed. 

Kolyat flattened his lips. Said nothing. He was an expert at waiting on his father.

Eventually the fit subsided, and Shepard pressed her cheek to the back of Thane’s hand. “You could never disappoint me,” she whispered.

He smiled. “Such pleasant things from your lips.” His breaths were coming quick now. Desperate. He was suffocating, and there was nothing she could do. Suffocating—

_Alchera. Inky, endless pitch. A tear in her suit and the Normandy in pieces. Air slipping away. Alone._

“It will be soon,” he rasped, reeling her back to the awful, awful present. In some ways, death had been kinder. “There is something I must do before it gets worse, I must—” Another bout of coughing wracked his body.

Shepard smoothed her free hand over his crest. Held him as he convulsed. Kolyat moved to his father’s other side, and bowed his head in prayer.

 _No,_ she thought, helpless. _Please not yet._

Thane stilled again. Took a shaky breath. “Kalahira,” he began, voice clear and calm, “Mistress of Inscrutable Depths, I ask forgiveness. Kalahira, whose waves wear down stone and sand—” His lungs wouldn’t cooperate.

 _Please,_ Shepard begged—the gods, the devils, she didn’t care. As long as one of them listened. As long as one of them answered. _Please don’t take him from me. I will never ask for anything again. Just please. Spare him._

“Kalahira,” Kolyat continued, picking up where his father left off, “wash the sins from this one, and set him on the shore of the Infinite Spirit.”

“Kolyat,” Thane gasped, a drowning man who broke the surface one final time. “You speak as the priests do. You have been spending time with them.” Light danced in his night-dark eyes—joy. Pure and bright. 

Kolyat moved around to stand near Shepard. “I brought a prayer book, Commander… Would you care to join me?” 

She looked to Thane. _Not yet. Please, please, please, not yet._

Thane managed a nod, and a piece of her broke off. Calved from the whole. This was it. He was really dying. And she couldn’t stop it.

“Kalahira,” Kolyat started, “this one’s heart is pure, but beset by wickedness and contention.”

At Kolyat’s pause, Shepard shifted her gaze from Thane to the words scrawled in the book. She wanted to cry, scream, collapse. Instead, throat tight and voice trembling, she prayed. “Guide this one to where the traveler never tires, the lover never leaves, the hungry never starve.” Thane’s grip was weak. He’d stopped coughing. Shepard focused on the words, tried to imbue them with meaning, just as he always did. “Guide this one, Kalahira, and she will be a companion to you as she was to me.” 

Thane stilled, his pulse went quiet, and before she could say anything more, he was gone. 

A lifetime ago, when she’d been trapped in a haze after Akuze, choked by survivor’s guilt and stumbling through her days as memory after memory after memory burned her up from the inside, Anderson had pulled her aside. _“Trauma is like a shockwave,”_ he’d said firmly, in a way that was probably meant to be comforting. _“It’s not the initial blast that decimates, but the lagging echo.”_

Shepard caught herself on the edge of Thane’s bed, let it take her weight. _Breathe._ And then, swiftly as a bullet, quiet as a blink, the wave hit. Crack. Rend. Ruin.

Take.

Gravity yawned—an unbearable tugging in the deepest part of her chest, like a black hole had opened inside of her, like the cold void of space had made her body its home. Light and air and warmth and _purpose_ all compressed into nothing, into even less. 

_Gone._ Her heart thumped. Numb. _Gone. Gone. Gone._

For years, she’d walked hand-in-hand with death. It was familiar. Expected. Soldiers died; that was war. But Thane wasn’t a soldier. He’d simply been _hers._

Just as she’d been his.

Maybe she always would be. Maybe that terrified her.

“Kolyat,” she said, unsure how long they’d been standing there. “Why did the last verse say _she_?”

Thane’s son tucked the small leather book back into his vest. “The prayer was not for him, Commander. He has already asked forgiveness for the lives he has taken.” Kolyat met her eyes directly. “His wish,” he said softly, “was for you.”

Shepard snapped her gaze to Thane—the Shadow of Illium, the best assassin in the galaxy. He’d made his last act a prayer—for her. Made sure his son would see it through, even if he couldn’t. Longing threatened to topple her.

Shepard brought her forehead to Thane’s, scales smooth against her brow as a tear ran hot down her cheek. Warm. He was still warm. “Goodbye, Thane.” She folded his hands across his chest. Finally, reluctantly let go. “Meet you across the sea.”

She’d been wrong, earlier, in thinking Thane’s labored breaths were the most horrible sound.

His silence was worse.

_(They burned his body. She stayed until his ashes were cool. Until he was made of only memory.)_


	3. after

“Is she real?” Shepard asked, sunk into the couch next to Kolyat, wine dulling the pain raging through her. The memorial had been beautiful. Maybe one day she’d think of it fondly, as Kolyat had said. It didn’t seem possible.

Kolyat cleared his throat. “Commander?”

Shepard winced at his voice. If she closed her eyes, it was almost like Thane was talking. Same vibrato. Same cadence. Mercifully, Kolyat’s timbre was different—slightly higher in pitch. “Kalahira,” she slurred, rolling her head to the side so she could look at him.

A mistake.

His profile was a punch to the gut, drell features glinting in the firelight until all she could see and think and feel was _Thane, Thane, Thane_. She pinched her eyes shut, tipped her head back, somehow kept the tears from spilling over.

Kolyat made a thoughtful sound, unaware of her reaction. “That… is a point of great contention amongst my people.”

The threat of tears receded, and Shepard switched to staring at the ceiling. Orange flickered at the edges of her vision. “And what do _you_ believe?”

Kolyat was quiet for a long moment. “I would like to believe that my father found peace in Her domain.”

_Wash the sins from this one, and set him on the shore of the Infinite Spirit._

“Yeah,” Shepard said, a rustle of breath in a bottomless pit. “Me too.”

 _(That night, when the ravenous dark bared its teeth, she recited Kalahira’s prayer. Forgiveness, absolution, purity—these were child’s things that had no place in war. Still, the litanies were like a piece of him, and they helped keep the demons at bay.)_

* * *

The halls were empty, and Shepard stared blankly at the wall of plaques. Cruel letters held her gaze, the shape of a man who had dedicated his life to going unnoticed. The only physical evidence that he was ever here, that he was ever hers.

**_T H A N E K R I O S_ **

Dozens of names above, no names below. She hadn’t managed to get anyone else killed in the three weeks since his death. But that would change. This war was hungry, and more would die. Many more.

Footsteps sounded behind her—the familiar stomp of a turian gait; loud where Thane’s would’ve been silent, sharp where Thane’s would’ve been soft. 

Garrus slowed. Came to a stop beside her. Didn’t say anything. Save for his rasping breaths, Shepard almost forgot he was there. On a different day, in a different life, she might’ve wondered who he was remembering, but grief was a jealous companion and it held her fast. 

**_T H A N E K R I O S_ **

Ten letters. The shortest name on the board. 

Her gaze slid out of focus again, the blur of white against grey sucking her under, and for the thousand thousandth time she wished she shared the drells' affinity for memory. Already Thane was becoming an echo, the ringing in her ears after a rifle shot, the last note of a melody cut short.

She should’ve paid more attention. Should’ve memorized the curve of his smile, the texture of his frills, the precise shade of green of his irises. It had taken her months to realize they weren’t black, like the surrounding sclera, like the rounded diamond-shaped patch of scales above his brow, like— 

“You truly loved him…” Garrus whispered, turning his head. “Didn’t you?”

Shepard swallowed, throat thick with the effort of keeping her emotions in check. “See you tomorrow, Garrus.” She was in the elevator before he could say anything more.

_(It was easier, if the others thought her cold, or distant. It was easier if they didn’t know how thoroughly she’d broken.)_

* * *

_Battle sleep,_ Thane had called it. She hadn't understood what he'd meant then.

She did now.

_(Meditation didn't take the edge off, as it had for him. When she reached for the quiet, it attacked.)_

* * *

Light washed over the tables at Apollo’s Café, the permanent glow of artificial day, and Shepard reminded herself to be present. Kaidan hadn’t called this a date, but his intentions were obvious now that they were alone. She had cared for him once. Maybe she could again.

If she tried.

The alternative was unbearable—that no one else would ever compare to Thane. That he’d been _it_ for her. That she'd found love and had it ripped away, breath by jagged breath.

_I will await you across the sea._

Kaidan brushed his thumb across her cheek, and it felt wrong. Skin instead of scales. She forced herself to accept the touch.

 _Try._ She closed her eyes. _You have to try._

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured. 

“Same.” Too stiff. “Thanks for the invite,” she added, tacking on a smile—such a foreign expression, like her body had forgotten how. 

Music trilled over the patio, upbeat and meaningless. Kaidan dropped his hand, folded both her palms into his. “I wanted to talk someplace private.” His thumb skated over her skin. This was normal, once. “About us.”

Tension in her chest. _Try._ Shepard drew in a centering breath. “What about us?” She aimed for warmth but missed the mark. It came out more like an accusation. Why couldn't she just have a conversation? Why was this so difficult?

_You know why._

Kaidan tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I want a future with you,” he said. “Listen, I know you were with the drell—”

 _The drell._ As if Kaidan couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge Thane's name. Shepard’s eyes snapped open.

“—and I understand why you cheated—”

She stood in a rush, rage hot in her veins. “ _Excuse_ me?” She ignored the stares of the other patrons.

Kaidan fumbled, mouth forming around several sounds before he continued. “I just mean—”

“This was a mistake.” Her voice was cold and keen. “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Shep—”

“You’re not him,” she whispered, harsher than she intended. It did the trick. Whatever Kaidan had been about to say died on his tongue. “I’m sorry,” she added, and left.

_(She didn’t try again. Ever.)_

* * *

“Commander?”

Shepard stiffened, a fleeting pang of relief at the familiar dual-toned voice, its soft rumble caressing each syllable. 

_Thane._

Furious, stupid hope—there and gone before she could sink into the feeling. It happened every time Kolyat spoke, and when the truth eventually tore through her, raw and unrelenting, it left behind only the bitter aftertaste of misery. 

Thane was gone. And he was never coming back.

Shepard kept her eyes on her datapad. “Help you with something, Kolyat?” Ever since he joined the crew, she'd been avoiding him, half out of guilt, half out of self-preservation. His company was the most acute kind of torture.

Kolyat stepped closer. “May I ask you something?”

She nodded but continued working, never looking up. Thane had devoted the last months of his life to keeping Kolyat off this path, and she’d barely even protested when he’d asked to join the cause. _The cause._ As if there was anything noble about scrambling to survive, jumping from system to system out of desperation, praying that one of the holo-thin leads would yield something valuable.

“Have I… done something to offend you, Commander?”

Shepard snapped her gaze to his, and the dark of his eyes stole her breath. 

_“He shares your features,”_ she’d told Thane once, back on the Citadel, after they’d prevented Kolyat from assassinating the turian politician.

 _“If you had known his mother, you would not think so.”_ There was something empty in Thane’s voice. An old wound that had never healed quite right. _“He is the spitting image of Irikah.”_

Shepard tilted her head to the side, noted the obvious differences in their coloring: blue, where Thane was green; black framing his fringe and brow. His face was broader, too. The longer she looked, the more differences she found. _“It’s the eyes,”_ she finally said. _“He has your eyes.”_

“Commander?”

Shepard blinked. Pushed the thought away. Drew in a weak breath. “Of course not.”

He lifted his chin, clasped his hands behind his back, dropped his shoulders. The change in posture was like a memory come to life, and Shepard struggled to keep her breathing even. “Forgive my bluntness,” he began, “but your actions suggest a strong aversion toward me. I wish to know why. If I have done something—”

“It’s not that,” she said. 

Kolyat’s brow ridge pulled together. “You interact with the others aboard this vessel, take them on missions.” His eyes stayed fastened to hers. Thane’s eyes. “But not me.”

“You—” The words stuck in her throat. “You remind me… of him,” she managed. 

Kolyat could’ve been cast from iron for how still he stood.

Heat prickled along her lower lashes. “Sorry, I—” She stepped quickly around him, toward the door, holding her breath to keep the tears in.

Fingers closed around her elbow, and when she tried to break Kolyat’s grip, he only held tighter.

Moisture blurred her vision, a pressure like fire burning its way up her face. She needed to be somewhere else, _anywhere_ else. Alone. 

_Alone, alone, alone._

“Kolyat, please—” 

“I am unfamiliar with the human experience of grief,” Kolyat said slowly, drell vocal inflections cutting into her with vicious precision, “but if it is anything like what drell go through, I know my father would not have wanted this for you.”

She tried to wrench her arm away, but Kolyat was strong. Like his father.

“He loved you,” he continued. “Deeply.” 

In the two months since Thane’s death, she hadn’t let herself cry. Not really. Not with feeling. A few detached sobs here and there, but never anything with force. The thing about it was, if she ever truly started, she feared she’d never stop.

But a dam can only hold so long.

Kolyat pulled her against his chest, arms wrapping around her as the world roared with sorrow, as the tears fell, as her knees gave out. Shepard fisted her hands in his jacket, held him closer as the grief ravaged her and took, and took, and took. “Why don’t you hate me?” she mumbled, half-meaning for the question to get lost in Kolyat's clothing. Irikah had been his mother. His _mother._

“You returned my father to me,” Kolyat said softly, and for all the world he sounded like a child, gentle wonder lighting his tone. “What is there to hate?”

Shepard buried her face in his shoulder. He was taller than Thane. “I miss him so much—” The rest of the words hooked in her deep, refused to come out. _I miss him so much it hurts to breathe._

"You loved him, did you not?"

Shepard held him tighter, a strangled sound catching somewhere between her ribs, heavy and pure. _Yes._ Funny how three letters could weigh so much.

“Then honor him. Honor him by enjoying the time you have left,” he whispered, voice cracking. Breaking. It took Shepard a moment to realize he was trembling as hard as her. “Honor him by _living._ ”

_(She spent more time with Kolyat after that. Sometimes, they would share memories of Thane. Sometimes, she wouldn’t cry.)_

* * *

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow they would dock with Cronos Station. Tomorrow they would confront the Illusive Man. Tomorrow they would retrieve the data on the Catalyst—no matter the cost. 

Garrus had stopped by earlier. Then Tali. Liara. Finally Kaidan. She’d told them all the same thing: _I’m glad it’s us._ The crew she’d been to hell and back with. The people she’d come to consider family. Only Garrus had seemed to guess at her true meaning: _I’m glad it’s almost over._

 _“Stay sharp out there, Commander,”_ he’d said, turian vocal cords grating against the softness in his eyes. _“Galaxy’s counting on us.”_

And then he’d left.

Shepard settled into her mattress, the _Normandy’s_ blue mass effect field washing lazily over the window above. Nine months ago she’d been in this same spot: queueing up for a mission that would likely be her last, pouring over datapads searching for some way— _any_ way—to protect her crew. Get them home.

_“Thane… be alive with me tonight.”_

It didn’t hurt as much anymore, thinking about him. But some memories had deep roots. Some memories demanded pain.

With a weary sigh, she closed her eyes, and let the past take her. _Thane._ The weight of his body, the press of his mouth; the feel of his fingers tracing her jaw, her hips, her legs. _Him._ Complete and consuming.

 _Tu-fira,_ Thane had called it. _Lost in another._ Memories so vivid they ached. Memories so vivid they conjured ghosts.

He was with her, then. A bright spot at the edge of her vision, ethereal and warm. She didn’t dare look directly at him for fear he would vanish. Hallucinations were fragile things.

“Thane,” she breathed, tears in her eyes, breath choked in her throat.

_"Siha."_

“I wish you were here.”

 _“I am always with you, siha.”_ The rumble of his voice, so near she could feel it in her chest. The shadow of something real, of something lost.

She closed her eyes, and the future pressed down, smothering the reckless hope that had kept her alive for so long. “What if I’m not strong enough?” Thick air filled her lungs. “What if I fail?”

_“You are not in this alone.”_

“Then why does it feel that way?”

 _“Siha,”_ he said, a sympathetic bent in his tone, _“your team is with you. As they always are.”_ A pause. _“You must simply let them back in.”_

“What if they die?” Shepard’s jaw quivered. “I can’t lose anyone else. I won’t survive it.”

 _“None are ever truly lost,”_ he murmured. _"And you are stronger than you give yourself credit for."_

She gulped. Eyes screwed shut, teeth pressed together. “I’m so tired, Thane.”

 _“Finish the fight, siha. You have come too far for anything less.”_ A whisper of air across her cheek, the shape of fingers at her jaw. _“And when you go to the Sea, I will be waiting for you at the shore.”_

She turned, desperate to hold him, see him, drag him back into this world for one more night, one more touch, one more kiss. But the bed was empty, and she was alone. Perhaps she always had been.

Shepard pushed the moisture from her eyes and rolled onto her side. Tucked her knees to her chest. “Kalahira,” she said softly, each word seared into her memory like a scar. “Mistress of Inscrutable Depths, I ask forgiveness...”

_(She slept soundly that night. It was strange. For all the times she’d faced death, she’d never once felt calm. Until now. Perhaps prayer did hold some magic after all.)_

* * *

Agony cracked through Shepard’s limbs, each step a war between her will and her mortality. She raised her pistol.

_Bang._

The glass cracked.

_Bang._

Fissures lanced out from the impact.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

The barrier shattered, leaving the core unprotected. Another shot, and flames licked her cheek, the backs of her knuckles. Another shot, and the acrid scent of burning hair and melted flesh overwhelmed her senses. Distantly, she understood that she wouldn’t survive this. And that was alright.

She was so tired.

So very, very tired.

Shepard’s vision crowded with black, and her fingers went numb, blood-slick hand and a sluggish pulse dragging her down, down, down. The dark reached up to greet her. The sound of waves.

_Not yet, siha._

Light flared through her, divine and focusing; the wrath of an ancient mother. Shepard drew in a long breath, stood tall despite the pain clawing at her limbs, the emptiness in her mind. She brought her other hand to the gun, steadied her aim, and closed her eyes. “Kalahira…” she whispered, and unloaded the clip.

_(It ended in a riot of white, and the flames sung her to rest.)_


	4. now

The sea presses in around her, crystalline water lapping at her throat. Washing her clean. Her wounds are gone. The pain is so distant, it is like it never was. 

Shepard pulls herself forward, through the silver-tipped waves, through the healing blue—a desperate calm to her movements. There is no rush, and yet she hurries. Thane wades into the surf, matching her efforts, all sure steps and patient grace. Even death could not take that from him.

Thoughts flit through her— _here_ and _real_ and _forever_ —though keeping one for more than an instant is like trying to grasp the wind. There is only ocean and light and _Thane._

He reaches her, and his touch is the first breath of dawn, the brightest star in the cosmos, the beginning of eternity. Radiance, compressed into a person. “Siha,” he whispers, hands on her arms, her waist, her face. He holds her like it is the only thing he knows.

She is trembling, dizzy with peace. Content. “Thane.” Oh, how she has dreamed of this moment.

His lips brush hers, warm as sunshine, tender as a breeze. “I have missed you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! hope something in all of that rang true <3
> 
> feel free to yell at me on [tumblr](http://yalenayardeen.tumblr.com) ;)


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